Of Christmas yore

by Terry C. Collesano
Lewiston Porter Sentinel, December 22, 2007

On Dec. 25, the most cherished Christian holiday will be observed around the world. A day that Christians observe and celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ. It also is a day for the celebration of life. A time for giving and a time for the sharing of love. It also becomes a most precious time for the reminiscence and for the reflections of Christmas yore.

As a child that was born during the early years of World War II and with the war rations on such items as metal, rubber and fuel, you would think that every child of that era would had suffered greatly. To the contrary, our Christmas toys were primarily made from wood, but they were of great quality and made with exceptional, expert craftsman skills. Each year during the war years, mom and dad would load my brother Jerry and I into the old ‘35 Ford Coupe and head up to Niagara Falls and to the ceremonious Beir’s Department Store.

While dad parked the old reliable Ford Coupe in the adjacent parking ramp, mom would lead my brother and I by hand through the store to the open staircase leading to the bargain basement. I can still remember with a tinge of emotional feelings that comes to me still this day, when reminiscing on descending to the first landing of the basement. The transformation of two young inquisitive children quickly changed into glee and with words and gestures of overwhelming emotion and excitement. An intensity that only a mom or dad could handle. As our eyes grew wider to the multitude of bright colors of the toys, no longer could we hold the emotions aroused by the awe-inspiring wonderment. “Mom, how many toys can we have?” By now dad had joined us from parking the car. “Only one toy each boys, so make it your best pick in order for Santa to deliver them on Christmas Eve.”

“One pick, only one pick, holy cow, how will we ever decide?”

Trucks, wooden horses and cars of all colors of the rainbow. Trains and wooden tops with strings to spin with real metal buttons and tips for faster spinning. Wooden blocks of all sizes with vivid colored veneers of gild and gloss. My brother made his selection rather quickly, a B-17 Bomber airplane that had real rubber wheels, a rarity. For me, it wasn’t that easy. It was either a blue colored car with a steering wheel that actually could turn the front tires or a huge white tow truck with a winch for cranking in stalled cars. The tow truck won out.

My brother and I were good boys; at least we thought we were. Christmas morning we would hope to receive our plane and tow truck. Yes, hopefully Santa will be able to deliver all the toys down our fireplace. Not being quite sure that this minor task could be completed, my brother and I decided we would hide downstairs near the Christmas tree and wait for Santa to arrive.

Earlier on Christmas Eve, dad put up the tree while mom helped my brother and I string freshly popped corn and red cranberries to a long tree. The string would be later draped around the tree as a decoration. Two cookies and a glass of milk were set near the tree for Santa and also a carrot for his reindeer. Hot chocolate and cookies were engulfed by Jerry and I before we were both sent off to bed.

Mom and dad finished decorating the tree as Jerry and I snuck down the staircase and avoided being noticed as we buried ourselves into mom’s linen closet. Within minutes I heard dad say to mom, “You better check on the boys.” I then heard mom walking down the hallway to the bottom of the staircase and ever so gently, almost in a whisper she called out, “Are you boys asleep?” From the linen closet, in unison, came a faint – “Yes!”

Like a flash the doors swung open and there was mom and dad peering down on us like as if we were two peas in a pod, we were caught. After being scolded and threatened that we each may only receive a piece of coal for Christmas, again we were sent off to bed. Once in bed, Jerry and I would stare at the moonlight shining through the Jack Frost patterns on the windowpanes, hoping to see Santa and his reindeer. But we soon were fast asleep.

As dawn broke on Christmas morning and after a wee nudge from my brother to awaken me, we were quiet for all but a minute. By then, the cobwebs were erased from our heads to the visions of toys and good things to eat. The frenzy that took place around and under the tree of opening gifts soon gave great pleasure and delight. Though we had been bad boys the night before, Santa was ever so kind and generous. Jerry received his B-17 Bomber and the huge white tow truck was there for me. Two gleaming bright snow flyer sleds, Santa also brought for us. A Christmas so wonderful that we pledged to our parents that we would be even better boys next Christmas. Oh, those moments of childhood were so precious, but as children, promises were soon forgotten.

It was the snowy week after Christmas that my brother somehow conned me into helping him collect discarded Christmas trees scattered throughout the village. I was told that I would receive a penny for every tree I helped him drag home. By noon that day we had 15 trees already and another 10 trees shortly before dinner. Wow, I had made 25 cents, how would I spend all that money? As dad arrived home from work, he spotted us dragging the last tree into the lower garage door. Being inquisitive as to our going ons, he approached. When dad peered through the door he was somewhat taken aback for not one square inch of free space was to be had. He calmly but most irritably said, “What in the world are you boys doing?” At which time my brother said, “Dad, we are going to save them until next year, then sell them for Christmas.” I guess Christmas had grown a little bit for us all that year, and so did I.